A Lament for a Foster Son, And He Going To the War against the King of Foreign
He is gone from me the son of my mind
And he in his golden youth like Angus Oge
Angus of the bright birds
And his mind strong and subtle like the mind of Cuchulin
His brow is as white as the milk of the cows of Maeve
And his cheeks like the cherries of the tree
And it bending down to Mary and she feeding the son of God.
His hair like the golden collar of the Kings at Tara
And his eyes like the four gray seas of Erin.
And they swept with the mists of the rain.
Mavrone go Gudyo
He to be joyful and red battle
Amongst the chieftains and they doing great deeds of valor
His life to go from him
It is the chords of my own soul would be loosed.
A Vich Deelish
My heart is the heart of my son
And my life is in his life surely
A man can be twice young
In the life of his sons only.
Jia du Vaha Alanav
May the son of God be above him and beneath him, before him
And behind him
May the King of the elements cast a mist over the eyes of the
King of Foreign,
May the Queen of the Graces lead him by the hand the way he
Can go through the midst of his enemies and they not
May Patrick of the Gael and Collumb of the Churches and the
Five thousand Saints of Erin be better than a shield to him
And he caught into the fight.